


Deja Vu All Over Again

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, Children, F/M, Family, Friendship, Post Bartlett Administration, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-20
Updated: 2011-02-20
Packaged: 2019-05-15 23:39:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14800136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of theWest Wing Fanfiction Central, a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in theannouncement post.





	Deja Vu All Over Again

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

  
Author's notes: CJ/Danny, CJ/OMC, Danny/OFC, mentions of others; alternative universe, total fantasy (or is it?)

 

 

 

 

 

Spoilers through end of series; possible spoilers for "Holding Hands on the Way Down"

 

 

 

 

 

Not mine, never were, never will be, but they consume my soul

 

 

 

 

 

Feedback and criticism always welcomed  


* * *

**Sunday, January 20, 2019; Kensington, CA; 3:30 PM PST**

Resting his chin on top of the three containers perched one on top of the other on his left hand, Paul Reeves opened the refrigerator door with his right. As the door started to close, he moved in to hold it open with his right hip. Either the kitchen floor had settled a bit or, more likely, the kids were hanging onto the door as they stared at the contents of the fridge, he thought. In any event, he had best get his tools and make the adjustment to the appliance.

Paul looked at the shelves, judging the footprints and heights of the things in his hand as well as those already in storage. Just as he reached for a container on the second shelf, intending to move it to the third, the phone rang.

"Pat! Would you get that please?"

Ten seconds later, just as Paul set the last of the containers on the shelf, the young man came into the kitchen holding his hand over the speaker of the phone in his hand.

"It's Miss Margaret, Papa. She would like to speak with Mama."

"Thank you, son," Paul said, taking the phone from Pat. "Margaret, it's Paul."

"Hi, Paul. How's CJ doing? We all miss you. The President, especially. He'd like to let her know personally if that's convenient."

"She's sleeping now. She was up earlier, of course, to watch the inauguration and the speech, but it really tired her out. But I'm sure she would want me to wake her. Just give me a minute."

"Oh, no, don't do that," Margaret hastened to add. "Just hold on for a second."

Then Paul heard "Columbia, Gem of the Ocean" as Margaret had apparently put him to hold, no doubt to deliver the message. Knowing Sam, and Josh, he was pretty sure it was left over from Haffley and not a choice of the new administration.

A minute later, the music stopped, but it wasn't Margaret's voice that came back on the line.

"Paul?"

"Mr. President, you didn't have to - ".

"First of all, it's 'Sam', remember? And second, I really want to let CJ and you know how much you have been missed, especially today, but also Thursday, Friday, and yesterday."

"Well, we had really been looking forward to it, but as sick as she is, it just wasn't to be," Paul replied with an imperceptible sigh. "Anyway, she did watch the oath and the speech. She cried when you mentioned Danny. That was nice of you. Truly excellent speech, by the way. But you already know that. All the commentators have nothing but good things to say about it, even the ones who don't believe you wrote it yourself."

_Jupiter_

" _Young Seaborn did quite well," Teddy Roosevelt proclaimed. "Almost as well as you did, Cousin Franklin."_

_The younger Roosevelt president nodded to the elder._

_The other former presidents quickly fell into a heated discussion as to who had delivered the best inaugural address._

"Well, it was only the truth. If it weren't for Danny and CJ, that Valentine's Day ten years ago, with their encouragement, I might not have accepted Gabe Tillman's offer of the lieutenant governorship," Sam said, repeating the story he had told in his inaugural speech. "And then, of course, there was the bracelet."

"The bracelet?" Paul asked.

"CJ never told you? As I was leaving their place that afternoon, they mentioned that it was Valentine's Day. I had completely forgotten, had not bought anything for Morgan. When I said that I hoped I could find something at the airport, CJ offered me the bracelet that Danny had given her. She insisted, said it was the thought that counted. Of course, I paid Danny for it and I think he was able to find another one like it, but still-. And I know that Morgan would have understood, but I was about to ask her to just pick up and move across country for a second time in two years. So as far as I am concerned, I owe CJ, and Danny, so very much," Sam finished. "In any event, tell her that we miss her, and you, and we hope she gets well soon. I don't know when we will have our first state dinner, but the two of you will be invited. You tell her that when she wakes up and that we're all thinking of her. Margaret is telling me that the ambassador corps is waiting for me in the Mural Room."

_The meadow by Rainbow Bridge_

" _Remember that state dinner for the president of Indonesia, Leo?" Danny asked. "I think that day was when I first realized that I had more than a little crush on CJ._

" _I remember how you raised a big stink about the vermeil, Danny," Abbey Bartlet said._

" _I just did that to make CJ talk longer at the briefing. I really enjoyed watching her deal with all the side issues of that evening. I remember she was wearing a nice blue suit that afternoon, and then, that evening, in that silver grey dress, well, that's when my heart was captured."_

" _I remember that hurricane and the ships," Fitz said. "That was a real tragedy."_

" _Is that bracelet story true, Danny?" Brianna asked._

" _I'm sure it is," Alicia joined in before Danny could answer. "It sounds like her."_

" _It is. I was in awe of her that day. Sam was right, I did manage to get another bracelet, but I wanted her to wear it that night. It matched the dress she was wearing for the St. Valentine's dinner dance."_

_Looking up at Danny, Alicia could tell that while his arms were loosely draped around her shoulders, his mind was back in Santa Monica, a decade ago. And she was okay with it._

"Of course, Mr. Pres – Sam," Paul amended. "And congratulations again. Enjoy the evening."

The doorbell rang as Paul was putting the phone back in its charging station. He opened the door to Mrs. Bialy from church, a casserole dish in her hands.

"They told us this morning that you were taking care of an invalid, when they explained why you weren't leading the service," the woman told Paul, pushing her way past him and into the foyer. "And I just knew that you would need some help, having to nurse your wife, take care of the children, and teaching at the seminary. So I've organized a food brigade; this is chicken and dumplings, my specialty. My, my, you certainly have a lot of containers in here." Mrs. Bialy had reached the kitchen and was at the refrigerator, making room for her dish.

"Thank you, Mrs. Bialy, you are too kind."

Actually, she wasn't, Paul thought to himself. Mrs. Bialy had brought her chicken and dumplings to many a church function. To say that the dish was bland was too tactful; the only seasoning was salt, pepper, and a little paprika, and the dumplings were heavy and doughy. And while he appreciated the thoughtfulness behind the idea of a casserole convoy, Paul was certainly capable of taking care of his family while CJ was ailing. He had done it several times over the length of their marriage, starting with the first time just about five years ago.

He and CJ had planned to fly out to DC last Thursday for the pre-inaugural festivities, the actual oath-taking, and the balls tonight, but CJ started getting sick on Monday and by Tuesday night, it was obvious that this was no simple cold. A trip to the health clinic on Wednesday resulted in a diagnosis of bronchitis and a sinus infection along with strep throat and instructions to stay home, in bed as much as possible, for a good ten days.

"My father, God bless him, was an old family doctor," said the middle-aged physician's assistant. "He always told his patients that if they just stayed in bed with aspirin and fluids, the cold would last two weeks, but if they took the antihistamines and decongestants, it would only last fourteen days." However, she did give CJ a supply of antibiotics to fight the infection and a cough syrup with codeine to help quiet the cough.

So Paul took his wife home, stopping at the store to stock up on chicken soup and ginger ale, put her to bed, and called the Lyman's to let everyone know that they wouldn't be coming to celebrate the start of the Seaborn presidency.

"Please give her my love, and tell her to get well soon," Donna said. Paul could hear a "me, too" in the background, so he said "Hi, Josh" in a slightly louder voice.

"I know how disappointed she must be," Donna continued, "but her health is more important."

"She had Hank design the most amazing dress," Paul replied. "It's a blue-green color, strapless but not plunging, with a slit in the back. She looks like an old-time movie star in it, or a society matron. You're right; she would be so disappointed, except she is so miserable."

And, he was disappointed too, Paul thought as he had hung up and then waded through the computerized voice menu for the airline to see what he could do about getting at least some of the money for the tickets refunded. To be honest with himself, he had come to enjoy being part of this group of players on the political scene, had come to enjoy the respect and attention that friends, neighbors, and colleagues showed when his and CJ's lives intersected with CJ's associates.

The antibiotics were working and CJ's sinusitis was clearing up, but she was still coughing up a storm and her throat was still sore, and she slept most of the time. Paul had already arranged for someone else to take his Thursday classes, so he had been able to stay home and play nurse.

Paul looked again at Mrs. Bialy's casserole. All was not lost, he determined. He could fish out the inedible dumplings, add some thyme, a bit of minced garlic, and some peas and carrots. With a little milk and water, he could serve it tonight as cream of chicken soup instead of the canned stuff.

Which was another thing; he and the children had just finished their main meal of the day. With CJ not able to eat much more than soup, toast, and eggs, Paul hadn't planned on preparing their normal Sunday afternoon dinner. But when he mentioned it to Pat, saying something about tuna melts or sloppy joes, the boy objected.

"But, Papa, it's our tradition! We eat a nice meal in the dining room on Sunday afternoons. We had to miss your church this morning because of Mama, and to watch Mr. Sam get sworn in, but I think we should have dinner like we always do. I can help you if it's too much for you to do by yourself."

Paul looked at Pat, seeing the Concannon smile, the Cregg height and facial features, and the effect of Derrick's presence in the boy's life, and said, "I think you're right."

Paul found some pork chops in the freezer to defrost in the microwave and the two of them made baked potatoes, baked pork chops, and green beans with almonds. They prepared a pan of brownies from a box to be served warm with ice cream for dessert. It was a fun father-son experience, teaching Pat some cooking basics. Paul decided that later, when CJ was better, he would talk with her about letting the boy use appliances other than the microwave. Pat was no longer a little child, and was, in the words of St. Luke, advancing in age, wisdom and grace.

Pat had supervised the girls as they set the table, teaching them the memory aids that Derrick had taught him a few years ago.

"Fork and left have four letters, so the forks go on the left-hand side of the plate; knife, spoon, and right have five letters, so they go on the right side. To make a'd' for drink, you have to put your right thumb and forefinger together, so the glasses go on the right." He was a good big brother, but then he had a good teacher.

With everything cleaned up in the kitchen, Paul started the dishwasher and then went to check on CJ. She was sleeping, just a little fitfully, her forehead slightly warm. Leaving the door open in order to hear if anything changed, he returned to the kitchen, poured himself another cup of coffee and settled down in the family room, where the girls were engaged in a game of "Candyland" and Pat and Hershey were playing tug-of-war with a piece of rope. Paul turned on the television and tuned to the football playoff game. The teams were deep in the second quarter and just after the first half came to an end, his mobile sounded. Paul smiled, recognizing Derrick's number, and answered.

Derrick was also watching the game and he asked about a particular play. Paul mentioned that he had just tuned into the game.

"Well, I'll shut up when the replay is shown, so you can see what I mean, Dad. How's CJ doing?"

"Still sick, but getting better. So far, neither I nor the kids have shown any signs of having it, thank God. And Natasha?"

"Great, just great. She, Tiana, and Michelle are over at the Hollis', of course, for the shower," Derrick informed his father.

It was a shame that even had CJ not gotten sick, she would have missed the baby shower, but Paul knew that his wife had arranged to have the stroller that Natasha and Derrick had chosen delivered to the party. That reminded Paul of another subject.

"Derrick, I want to discuss the crib again."

"Dad, you and CJ have done more than enough, with the painters and all back in September. As I said before, it's not up for discussion, it's settled. Now, here's that play I was talking about."

As they temporarily stopped the conversation, Paul realized once more that marriage had changed Derrick. There was an old saying – a son is a son until he takes a wife. It was to be expected, of course. Indeed, during pre-wedding counseling, Paul had told his son that a wife was the most important person in a man's life, after God and himself. So it was natural that Derrick did not volunteer to come up to help out this week. He needed to save his extra vacation and personal days to take care of Natasha and the baby when the child came. But the relationship between Paul and his son had also changed. Since becoming a husband, and now a soon-to-be father, Derrick conducted himself as more of an equal to Paul. There was no lack of respect, but some of the deference that Derrick had shown was no longer there. For example, back when Derrick and Natasha had come up around New Year's, Paul sensed some sort of an undercurrent between the young couple concerning the pregnancy. It was more than the normal apprehension that would be present when a man and a woman were expecting their first child.

When Paul approached Derrick about his observances, Derrick told his father that he was imagining things. Before, in such a situation, Paul could always, with a certain tone, get the truth from his son. But this time, when Paul had said, "Derrick, I ask you again, what is going on?", his son replied, "Dad, there is nothing wrong, nothing for you to worry about. So let's change the subject." It was only later that Paul realized that Derrick's claim that there was nothing wrong, in response to his demand to know what was going on, while it might be the truth, was not necessarily the whole truth.

_Cassiopeia's Chair_

" _But_ _ **we**_ _know," Alicia giggled to Danny. They had just finished swirling and were coming down from the high,_

After the highlights from the first half were over, the two Reeves men resumed their conversation.

"So how have the Arizona women enjoyed their visit this weekend?" Paul asked.

"It's been fine. Tasha's mother seems to have a new spark, a new vivacity about her. Tasha and Tiana are hopeful that she may even start dating again."

"Well, that's a good sign," Paul said. He couldn't say anything, of course, but he had had a call from Michelle Montmorency last week. She had been seeing one of the professionals Paul had recommended to her, and had joined a divorced, singled, and widowed group at her church.

Paul and Derrick stayed on the phone for the rest of the game, discussing the plays and life in general.

Paul doctored the chicken and dumplings and set it to simmer on the stove. The television station had switched from sports to news and was showing pictures of Sam and Morgan as they visited the first of the inaugural balls. Sam looked good in his tux and Morgan was striking. Her dress appeared to be a silvery fabric with a plunging neckline, perhaps a bit more décolletage than Paul would have liked had it been *his* wife wearing it, but by no means immodest. According to the woman doing the newscast, the new first lady's jewelry was diamond and platinum vermeil. In the crowd at the ball, Paul caught glimpses of the Lyman's, Margaret and John Hoynes, Ginger and Rick, Bonnie and Jean-Luc, and Carol and David. Knowing that CJ would want to see her friends, Paul went to the bedroom wing to wake her.

Entering the master suite, Paul was accosted by the odor of vomit. Concerned, he rushed to the bed. Apparently, CJ had tried to reach the plastic bucket by the side of the bed but hadn't been successful.

Paul hurried to the bed, berating himself for not checking on her before now, for letting himself get carried away by the game. After making sure that she was okay, he went to the bathroom for a couple of wet washcloths, a towel, and a glass of water. Paul coaxed her into rinsing out her mouth before taking off her soiled nightshirt and washing her face and body. Lifting CJ from the bed, he set her in the big overstuffed chair and covered her with a blanket. The Paul fetched a clean set of sheets and changed the bed linen. Finally, he got a clean nightshirt from the dresser.

As he bent down to lift CJ and return her to the bed, Paul was struck by an incredible case of _déjà vu_. Suddenly, it was thirteen years earlier, and he was caring for Alicia during the last months of her fight with cancer. The intensity of the event was so strong that Paul was unable to continue. He sank to his knees and tears streamed down his face. His shoulders shook with the struggle to keep his sobs silent, to keep from disturbing the woman sleeping just in front of him in the chair.

Oh, God, how her missed her. No matter the joy he had found in his current life, no matter the love he felt for CJ, Pat, Caitlin, and for the daughter they had made together, he also loved Alicia and wanted to see her again, hold her again, kiss her again. He wanted her to have been able to see her children fall in love and marry. He wanted her to have been able to hold Deborah's son and Derrick's coming child.

_I know, my darling. I'm not there, but I know. And I know my love and miss me, but you have a new life now. Be happy with her, be happy in it._

Slowly, the tears subsided and Paul wiped his face. He rose from the floor and carried CJ to the bed.

Back in the family room, he switched over to CSPAN and set the DVR to record the inaugural ball festivities, then went to the kitchen where he made grilled cheese sandwiches to give the kids along with the soup. After settling the three of them around the table with their supper, Paul returned to the bedroom and, leaving the door open so he could hear if anything went amiss in the kitchen, he lay down beside his wife.

The motion woke CJ, so after lightly kissing her, Paul turned on the bedroom television so CJ could see her friends, then fetched her medicine. When she answered his question about food in the affirmative, Paul went back to the kitchen to ladle out soup for the two of them.

When the kids found out that their mother was awake, they clamored for permission to be with her. Paul assented, but insisted that after they kissed her "only on the cheek, not on the mouth", they had to sit on the floor and not on the bed. Not only did he not want them catching her germs, he also wanted to make sure that CJ was not made uncomfortable.

**The next morning; 8:30 AM**

"What's for breakfast, Papa?" Caitlin asked as she joined her brother, sister, and father in the kitchen.

"I was going to make French toast and bacon," Paul answered the little redhead, bending down to kiss her forehead. "Do you like that?"

"Hooray!" Caitlin exclaimed, reaching up to give Paul a hug.

"Yes, thank you, Papa." Dansha was more reserved, but just as happy.

"And I know what your answer will be, Pat," Paul smiled at his son. After five years, French toast was still the boy's favorite breakfast.

"Do we have enough eggs, Papa? Will there be eggs for Mama to eat?"

For the second time in less than a day, Paul was struck with strong memories, this time of that first time CJ was sick and he had to take of her and the children. Pat was so young then, just a few months older than Dansha's age now. It had been the first time Paul had had to exercise disciplinary authority with CJ's son, the time when he and Pat became father and son. Paul had known that the little boy was terrified, sitting there in the study, and calmly, competently, he established the relationship, letting the child know that while Paul considered the actions of that morning to be bad and unacceptable, that did not mean that the boy himself was inherently bad and unacceptable. And over the years, their relationship had strengthened. Pat was growing into a delightful young man, a thoughtful, intelligent, kind, well-adjusted one. He was not perfect, of course. There had been more serious discussions over the years, more times when compensatory and punitive damages emptied Pat's piggy bank, and one or two times when Paul and CJ and deemed grounding to be a suitable repercussion. But after that one time with Caitlin's teddy bear, there had been no lying, no need for another spanking.

"We have lots of eggs, Pat," Paul said with a smile.

"Great! Can I help? I can mix the eggs and the milk while you cook the bacon."

While the kids were eating their breakfast, Paul went to check on CJ. She was awake, but sleepy. She answered yes when asked about breakfast, so Paul fixed some scrambled eggs, toast, juice, and tea for his wife.

"I'll take the tray in to Mama," Pat told him. "You sit and eat your breakfast, Papa."

Pat returned with the tray about fifteen minutes later, as Paul was cleaning up in the kitchen.

"Mama's sleeping again," the boy said. "Papa, I can stay home with you this afternoon. I don't have to go to the game."

Seattle was in town to play the Warriors; the NBA always scheduled afternoon games on MLK day and Will Marshall was taking the boys to see the teams play. When CJ got sick and the plans were changed, Will offered to turn in the tickets and get a set of four. They would make it a real father-son outing. Paul knew that one of the Hotchkiss's would be more than willing to come over and sit with CJ, just as Lee had done Saturday afternoon when Paul took the kids to Mass. But he also knew that the seats that were available were nowhere near as good as the three Will already had. Will had played college ball with one of the Warriors' assistant coaches and the tickets were fifth row behind the bench. So Paul thanked Will for the offer but said that he would use the time to catch up on some academic journals.

Paul also knew that Pat had been looking forward to the afternoon, so he thanked the boy for his kindness but told Pat that he should go with the Marshalls and enjoy his afternoon.

"If you're sure, Papa. When are Aunt Gina and Nona Bianca coming?"

"They should be here by 11:00, I should think."

When CJ and Paul made their plans to travel to DC for the inauguration, Gina and her mother volunteered to sit with the kids. With the change in plans, there was no need for the two of them to head down to Kensington on Wednesday. However, they still had the tickets for the special matinee showing of Disney on Ice that was scheduled for the holiday, and so Bianca and Gina would take the girls to the ice show and then to tea at the Fairmont. And instead of the outing being the final event of their stay, it would be the initial one; Gina and Bianca offered to stay with the Reeves family for a few days and help out until CJ was well enough to be left alone while Paul was down at PSR. Paul saw the advantages, not the least of which were the Italian meals that Bianca would prepare for the family.

**12:45 PM**

Paul shut the door as the Marshall Altima left the driveway. The female contingent had left for the city 25 minutes earlier. He looked into the living room. Hershey was on the floor, having found a patch of sun coming in through the front window.

Paul gathered his journals and headed for the bedroom wing. CJ was stirring and asked for some ginger ale, so Paul fetched two glasses. He told her of the events of the morning, how Gina and Bianca had arrived with a cooler full of lasagna, manicotti, and eggplant parmesan and a Tupperware ® container full of cannoli.

"Be sure to freeze some for me," CJ said with a yawn, "so I can enjoy it when I feel better."

"Of course, sweetheart," Paul answered, lightly kissing her forehead. Then they settled down to watch an old "How I Met Your Mother" rerun. Within ten minutes, CJ was asleep again, snuggled down against Paul's thigh, so he turned off the television and started on his reading.

Paul was well into the third article in the first journal when CJ began to murmur in her sleep and to stir a bit. He set down the magazine, intending to check her breathing and to see if her fever was intensifying, when she touched her left breast and then trailed her hand down to between her legs.

CJ was obviously having an erotic dream and Paul's first thought was to replace her hand with his own. Then he stopped. What if she was dreaming of someone from her past? What if she was dreaming of Danny?

"Please, Paul, please fill me up, I ache for you."

The words settled Paul's concerns; the effect on his groin was definitely not settling.

"Come to me, come in me!" CJ had spread her legs wide, her nightshirt riding up her hips, her arms reaching out above her.

As much as Paul now ached for his wife, as much as she wanted him in her dreams, there was no way that he could join with her. A man did not make love with a sleeping woman, even if she was his wife. And a man did not make love with his woman when she was ill.

Then, looking at CJ's face, contorted in need even though asleep, Paul was carried back to those summer months of '14, when she was carrying Dansha.

Paul had heard of the phenomenon, although Alicia had never experienced a great difference in libido when she was pregnant with the twins. He had counseled men who felt inadequate because they were not able to respond and react multiple times a day, every day, for two or three months. He had counseled women who felt ashamed of their urges, women who told him that there were times when they felt as if they needed to assuage pain rather than desire.

That summer, there were many times when CJ had looked at him with the same aching expression as she now wore in sleep.

_Danny smiled, remembering CJ's three pregnancies and the times when he took care of her needs._

So Paul did what he sometimes did at that time. He reached for her center, and, fingers inside her and thumb on her, used his skill to give her what she needed.

Of course, after CJ sighed in satisfaction and settled down once more against his side, Paul was still hard with desire for her. It would be a simple matter to deal with his own need, but then again not so simple. A few months ago, when it became apparent that even though CJ would not be joining Sam and the others in DC, she would sometimes be called to the capitol and, combined with her new role at the university and her position on the Hollis board, their times apart would become more frequent, Paul had come upon a realization for himself. He had decided that when he had promised to "keep himself only unto her", it meant that he would, to the best of his ability, find pleasure only with her. Her passage only. Her mouth only. Her hand only. It was not something he would ever ask of CJ. It was not something he would never even discuss with his wife. It was something between himself and his God.

It was not that he considered self-satisfaction to be bad. As he had told many young men, it was normal and acceptable as long as it was practiced in private and in moderation. Those were the words he had used with Derrick; those were the words he would use with Pat when the time was right. No, it was one of the many good things of God's creation that he had chosen to give up, much like a priest chooses celibacy, or a muslim woman who freely chooses the _hijab_.

For the third or fourth time in two days, Paul experienced déjà _vu_. He remembered the times he had released himself during those two months while waiting for CJ to be ready all those years ago. He remembered the times while waiting for his wedding night with Alicia. Luckily, or, unluckily, he told himself, he was no longer a young man of twenty. Urges came less frequently (but still frequently enough, praise God), and said urges were easier to control, if necessary.

But now, he would wait until his wife was well, and awake.

Paul sighed and turned to the next article in the journal. "Psychological Issues in Self-flagellation during the Middle Ages". A nice, deflating topic, Paul thought with a smile. Who said God didn't provide for our needs?


End file.
